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THE ORACLE 



A MUSIC-DRAMA 



PETER ROBERTSON 
HUMPHREY J. STEWART 



BOHEMIA '} 

MCMX -2 

i 






THE ORACLE 



A Music-Drama especially written for 
and first produced at the dedication of 
the new home of the Bohemian Club, 
San Francisco, on Saturday, November 
the twelfth, nineteen hundred and ten. 



Book by PETER ROBERTSON 
Music by H. J. STEWART 



Apollo . . . 

Euterpe, Muse of Song 
Thalia, Muse of Comedy - 
Calliope, Muse of Poetry 
Messenger of the Lares 
High Priests of Apollo 

Assistant Priests of Apollo 

Attendant of Bohemia 
Bohemia - . - 



1 



H. McDonald spencer 

- WYATT ALLEN 
- J. C. DORNIN 

- HARRIS ALLEN 

- FRANK MITCHELL 

- FRANK P. DEERING 
E. COURTNEY FORD 

FRANK ONSLOW 

CARL E. ANDERSON 

REGINALD E. G. KEENE 

- HENRY L. PERRY 

ROY RYONE 

ALLAN DUNN 



Chorus of Greek Populace 



Dramatic Ensemble by ALLAN DUNN 
Stage Manager, WM. H. SMITH 
Scenery, GEORGE LYONS 
Lighting, ED. J. DUFFEY 






Copyright. 1910. by 
Peter Robertson and Humphrey J. Stewart. 

Printed for private publication. 






^^-^=^ 



< ^ir-^ 



THE ORACLE 



Interior of a Temple of Apollo. At the back is the Shrine of 
the Oracle. It is nightfall and the assemblage is present at the appeal 
to the Oracle of a stranger from a far off country. 

Eternal Mystery, the Mystery of Fate ! 

The Temple's silence, vibrant, trembles in its awe ; 

The craven hearts of men stand still 'twixt fear and hope; 

They quake before the Unseen Presence of the Gods ; 

The Gods, at whose brief nod the destinies of men 

In misery sink or to a triumph glorious rise. 

By Will divine the shuttle noiseless weaves the web; 
By Will divine the blending strands take hue and shade ; 
By Will divine the fatal shears their angles close ; 
So mortals die and pass as falls the severed thread. 
As secret as the farthest future of our days. 
The moment of our lives that lies so close beyond. 

Dust of our Mother Earth, our Frames ! 
Breath of the Gods, our Souls ! 
Oh, gift divine ! and by that gift alone 
Mortals may pray and Deities attend. 

Powers who, with the unuttered thought, create ; 

Powers who. with the unuttered wish, destroy ; 

For all our weakness be ye pitiful ! 

For all our mortal evil, merciful ! 

Grant us what Gods and men alike may crave, 

Eternal Happiness! 

Enter the High and Attendant Priests. 

THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

Glorious Apollo! 
From thy Celestial Orb 
All being springs. 



(3) 



Thy gentle beam, j^'ooing the clod, 

Charms from the sullen clay 

Leaf, flower, and fruit. 

The eyes of mortals, touched by thy pure ray 

As with a spell. 

Behold a world all loveliness. 

'Twas thus the Gods, in love, into men's frames breathed life. 

Through beauty still thou speakest to men's souls. 

TWO ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

The Source of Life the Gods have made thy charge; 

Thou see'st far into the fates of men; 

Even to the end, if that there be an end ! 

To thee no time, no distance nor to thee 

The Future, nor the Present, nor the Past. 

All is as if 'twere one. Thy Prophecy, 

The unsealed purpose of the Gods. 

TWO ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

The spheres at thy command make music, 
And the sweet, melodious strains 
That move men's souls on earth 
Spring from thy lyre divine ! 

THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS AND THE CHORUS 

Glorious Apollo ! 

Thy chariot wheels to mortal ears unheard, 

Thy steeds unseen ; 

Thine Orb of Fire Celestial silent rolls ; 

From jocund Earth springs Life all beautiful ; 

And, from the hearts of men, a song of joy, 

Swayed by thy lyre, 

To music of the spheres. 

But by thy Will, through this, thine Oracle, 

May mortals trembling peer into their fates. 

Flere at thy shrine we wait in awe 

The mystic message from the Infinite ! 

THE PRIESTS 
Apollo, Hear! 



(4) 



Apollo, Hear! 
Apollo, Hear ! 
Apollo. Hear! 
Apollo, Hear! 
Apollo, Hear! 



A light begins to glotv within the shrine. 



THE C?iORUS 



THE PRIESTS 



THE CHORUS 



THE PRIESTS 



THE CHORUS 



The Oracle ! 



THE CHORi;S 



THE CHORUS 



The radiant light, light of the God, 

Glows from the shrine ; 

Through dazzled eyes of mortals 

Pierces to their souls ! 

The Oracle ! 

Our prayers are heard ! 



A HIGH PRIEST 



The God will speak! 



THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

Who would consult the Oracle, 

And tempt the hidden secret of his fate ? 



BOHEMIA 



I! 



Enter Bohemia. 



(5) 



A HIGH PRIEST 
Who art thou? 

BOHEMFA 
From a far off land I come ! 



A HIGH PRll'ST 

There is no far off land; unto the Gods 

All lands are near! 

What would'st thou know? 

Hast thou an argosy upon the deep? 

W'ould'st ask the Gods to search a woman's heart? 

Or dost thou crave a boon for thine own self? 



BOHEMIA 

No argosy have I ; 

Nor care I for the beat of woman's heart. 

No boon I crave. I would but ask 

The counsel of the God. 

My country is Bohemia ! 

There have we raised a temple. 

Consecrate — 

A HIGH PRIEST 
The God has read thy thought! 

THE CHORUS 

The God has read thy thought. 
The Oracle! 

VOICE OF THE ORACLE 

What thou see'st is not seen. 
What thou knowest is not known. 
What thou doest is not done. 

BOHEMIA 

The words I hear. Their meaning mystic 
As the shrine. 

(6) 



A HIGH PRIEST 

The Temple wliich tliine eyes behold is all unseen. 
Thy purpose is not finite as thy knowledge is. 
Thy consecration is an act that never ends. 

BOHEMIA 
Still do I listen! 

THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

The Temples of the Gods are in men's souls. 

Theirs not the \\'hat thou doest. but the Why. 

Nor carved stones, nor pillars, nor the festive halls. 

The music nor the laughter; nor the light heart, 

Nor even the kind deed, 

Nor aught thou showest outwardly ; but only this. 

Thy thought, its meaning, and the spirit of thine act ! 

BOHEMIA 

We are but mortals, and to mortals is forbid 
Perfection of the Gods. Yet would we strive that so 
Our thought, its meaning, and the spirit of our act 
May for Bohemia win the favor of the Fates. 

VOICE OF THE ORACLE 
Thy fate is not in thee. 

BOHEMIA 
Again thy words are mystic. 

A HIGH PRIEST 

The wind that steals away the vagrant seed 
Changes its destiny. 

A HIGH PRIEST 

The stream that gently murmurs through the glen 
Bears many a fate. 

BOHEMIA 
These be the things that have no souls. I speak of Men ! 



(7) 



THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

• 

The Gods have made Mankind, not Men; 

Each soul its own, to render back 

Stained or unstained ; 

The peril theirs ! 

That fire divine, which Men call Life, 

Is but the spirit of the Universe. 



BOHEMIA 
Yet for all Men are fates — 

A HIGH PRIEST 

The Fates weave not the future. 
Out of each moment is a moment born ; 
Inheritor of every splendor, grace, or taint 
Of all the aeons Men have known as time. 
I'hat moment is thy fate ! 

BOHEMIA 
The Gods have woven the aeons ! 

A HIGH PRIEST 

Men make Men's fates ! The Furies. Men ! 
Each thought and act is fate. 
Not for thyself alone, but for thy Fellowman, 
Oh, purblind race, the Gods pursue you not. 
The Will of High Olympus is the Law I 

BOHEMIA 

So have the Gods of High Olympus made Mankind, 

Souls, kindred to themselves, chained in coarse frames of clay, 

The Creatures of a Law, now cruel and now kind : 

A Law inscrutable, Men must not comprehend ! 

The high ideal nursed within the soul, and sought 

With eager will, is but a dream. It is the Law! 

The sentient thrill of beauty, throbbing for an hour, 

Turns into pain as beauty fades. It is the Law ! 

The hope that stirs the souls of men becomes a pang. 

All bitter as it vanishes. It is the Law! 



(8) 



The love twixt man and woman that brings joy untold 

Its own keen shafts of torture bears. It is ':he Law ! 

The mother's heart that, o'er her offspring, beats with bliss 

Beats faster with an unknown fear. It is the Law ! 

The blessing that, with all our earnest prayer, we crave 

Comes not; but in its place, howe'er "tis undeserved. 

There falls the blow we dreamed not of. It is the Law ! 

The will to do all kindness, owning not the means; 

The right that turns to wrong ; the good deed misconstrued; 

Changed into ill; the ill deed done that we re\-cnge; 

The ill deed done that we forgive; all might not be! 

Life knov.'s no everlasting or unsullied joy 1 

It is the Law ! 



Bold is Bohemia! 
He flouts the Gods ! 



THE CHORUS 



BOHEMIA ! 



I do not flout the Gods! All reverently I speak. 
The grain of dust beneath the avalanche were more 
Than I, did but the Gods of High Olympus breathe. 



THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 
The God is patient! 

VOICE OF THE ORACLE 
The stones of earth have reason in them. 

A HIGH PRIEST 

Thou comest of the race Deucalion raised 
By Jove's command. 

THE CHORUS 

In Ancient Days, 

The World was Paradise, 

So fair, the Gods abode with men, 

And filled their life with radiance 

As of Heaven. 

(9) 



Till, in the Age of Iron, 
Drunk with false pride 
Of the Celestial favor, 
Men defied the Gods, 
Stained the fair World 
With sin and crime, 
Dared to probe 
Into great Nature's secrets. 
And disdained 
Even Jove himself! 

Then rose the God in rage majestic, 
Hurling forth the storm, 
With flood tempestuous, He 
Swept them to Chaos ! 

From stones of earth 
Deucalion cast behind, 
Jove framed a race anew ; 
Made them know pain ; 
They might not then forget 
Mortality. 

BOHEMIA 

Within my soul I feel but reverent fear and awe, 
My words a prayer! 

VOICE OF THE ORACLE 

Who would dispute the Means 
Should know the End. 

A HIGH PRIEST 

Men's craving is not prayer. 

The Gods are just. 

Men pray for their desire. 

Not knowing oft th' injustice of the wish. 

A HIGH PRIEST 

Thou may'st deserve; 

But thy deserving given. 

From others may take that they more deserve. 

Thou canst not know ! 

(10) 



THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

The knowledge that thou seekest 

Is not for thy good! 

The zest of life lies ever in suspense. 

The ill foreknown kills every joy 

That comes between ; 

The happiness foreseen 

Is in anticipation lost. 

Without the sorrow, who could know the joy ; 

Without the misery, who could happy be? 

THE CHORUS 

The thrill of beauty lives within the pain; 
Behind the pang, the pleasure of new hope; 
Twice sweet the love that is from torture freed ; 
The mother's bliss would into folly turn, 
But for the unknown fear; 
The wrong is oft the right ; 
The right oft wrong; 

The ill deed more a blessing- than the good, 
The Gods alone may know ! 

BOHEMIA 

Men still seek happiness ; since by thy Law alone, 
May mortals make the lesser part of life the pain, 
We crave thy counsel. Let us know but how to live! 

VOICE OF THE ORACLE 
Turn to thyself ! 

A HIGH PRIEST 

The Gods have given thee reason. Since it leads 
Thee to pursue the Mysteries for thy Good, 
And for thy Purpose High, thy boldness is forgiven ! 
The Law thou hast. 

THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

Upon thy Conscience carved. 

As on a stone, thou hast the Law, 

So often, unconsidered, conned. 



(11) 



That its Commandments pass ^ 

Like proverbs without meaning 

From each tongue. 

Read thou thy Conscience, 

Therein shalt thou find 

This Law ! 

THE CHORUS 

In bounds and limits all things work for good. 

Love well, but be not blind 

To evil that love may beget. 

Hate thou, but pity still. 

The evil man as evil thing. 

The ill, when 'tis revenged 

Is all undone ; 

The ill with patience met 

Falls on its source. 

The kindness willed 

Without the means 

Is more than kindness 

That seeks gratitude. 

Seek not reward ; 

Who seeks reward 

May merit punishment. 

So follow thou the Good, 

And leave thy soul 

To judgment of the Power Supreme, 

Who knoweth all ! 

BOHEMIA 

The Gods are Wisdom ; wise must be the end. 
I ask no more but strength to do thy will. 

VOICE OF THE OR.\CLE 
What thou hast, thou shalt receive ! 

A HIGH PRIEST 

The Gods have loved thee long, Bohemia, 

Through all thy mortal failings, 

Still thy aims approved. 

The Muses long have dwelt with thee, 

(12) 



And now renew the gifts 
They gave thee at thy birth. 
The Muse of Song sakites thee ! 

Euterpe enters and presents the Lvre. 

THE CHORUS 

Hail, Muse of Song! 

Harmony Infinite ! 

Thou quellest all things base; 

To thy mysterious thrill 

The pulses of the Universe keep time ; 

The Earth inanimate throbs at thy sound; 

The mortal frame, vibrant beneath the spell 

Thou castest on the soul, becomes a lyre. 

Hail, Muse of Song! 

Exit Euterpe 

A HIGH PRIEST 
Thalia greets thee ! 

Thalia enters and gizrs the Mask. 

THE CHORUS 

Hail, Muse of Comedy! 

Thy mimic power plays on the lives of men, 

Thy smiling mask oft hiding purpose grave ; 

Thy keen shafts prick the bubble of the vain, 

.Shame base hypocrisy, and at thy laugh 

Things sordid shrink to naught. 

The merriment of life is thine, and oft 

Thou bringest men the tear wrapt in the smile. 

Hail, Muse of Comedy, 

Hail! Hail! 

Exit Thalia 

A HIGH PRIEST 
The Muse of Poetry crowns thee ! 

Enter Calliope and gii'cs the Scroll. 

(13) 



\ 



THE CHORUS 

Hail, Muse of Poetry ! 

The soul of all things dost thou find, 

And lo ! all things are beautiful, 

The shining green of hill and plain, 

The barren rock, the mountain rill. 

The raging torrent, and the roaring main. 

Lo! thou art there! 

The grosser life of man knows not of thee ; 

Thou ever art in him whose soul is pure ; 

And in that soul there lies thy noblest theme. 

The Infinite ! 

Kail, Muse of Poetry, 

Hail! Hail! 



Exit Calliope 

BOHEMIA 

To be but worthy these, is gift divine ! 
These sacred do I hold, 
To thy High Purpose consecrate 
Now and forever. 

A HIGH PRIEST 

Yet one more message have the Gods for thee ! 

Thy Lares welcome thee ! 

Spirits of those, whom, from Bohemia, 

The Gods have ta'en, and for their love of thee 

Lent to thee still, thy Watch and Guard ! 

A HIGH PRIEST 
Hearken ! they speak ! 

THE CHORUS OF THE LARES 

Though you no more behold us. no more hear 

Our voices echoing through the festal halls 

In song and jest and laughter; cannot know 

The love in which we left you still is yours, 

The Gods have willed that we our memories hold, 

Of all the glow and warmth of genial soul 

That is Bohemia ! Willed that for our love 

(14) 



We should around you hover evermore, 

Cluster about your hearth, j-our Household Gods ! 

Your revels and your moments of grave speech. 

The merry hour, the peace unspeakable, 

The ever kindly thought, the generous deed. 

We have our part in, though you know it not. 

Hold to these ever! Let no discord be. 

To mar Bohemia's loving harmonv ! 



Enter the Messenger of the Lares, bearing mantle. 

The High Priests inz'est Bohemia with tiie manth', on tlie 
breadth of zvhicli is emblazoned an owl. 



THE MESSENGER 

This gift thy Lares send, symbol of attribute. 
Nearest the Gods, Love of thv Fellowman ! 



THE ATTENDANT PRIESTS 

The Gods made life the sunshine; 

Care and pain but passing clouds. 

They ask no sacrifice ; better far they love 

Those who with garlands deck the shrine I 



THE I\1ESSEK13ER OF THE LARES 

With wreath of bay thy brows are crowned ; 
With gift of song thou art endowed: 
Thalia's mirthful mask is thine ; 
Still take thou heed of what they Lares send! 

Be thou but true ! 

Open wide thy heart to all the joys of life; 

Spare not the pleasures that the Gods may send ! 

Thy happy revelry can hold no strife 

With graver purpose ; all things work their end ! 

Forget not that, without thee, there is pain, 
And care forever hovers round thy door ; 
That sympathy bears sorrow in its train ; 
And others' woes but draw them to thee more ! 



(15) 



Within thee let the weary soul find rest, 
The saddened spirit lighten with thy cheer; 
Love of thy Fellowman, be that thy best 
And chiefest virtue, by the Gods held dear. 
Be thou but true! 

BOHEMIA 

So to the Will and Purpose of the Highest Good 
Is our Bohemia's Fane forever dedicate ! 
The Gods have said ! 



Apollo appears, Bohemia kneels before the shrine as Apollo 
croivns him ivith his fillet. 



THE PRIESTS 

W^ith fairest garlands wreathe Bohemia's walls, 
Let joy re-echo through Bohemia's halls, 
The paean raise ! 

Praise ye the Power Supreme, 

The Power Omnipotent ! 

Around whose throne the Universes swing 

In harmony sublime! 

Life infinite dwells in Him, 

And from his store 

He peoples the unnumbered worlds. 

Praise ye the Power Allseeing, who, on high, 
Men's lives through tortuous ways, 
Guides to His End, 
His End the Good ! 

Praise ye the Power Omniscient, 

Wisdom Absolute I 

W^hose law benign, 

If men but heed. 

Leads to immortal bliss ! 

With songs of joy 
Praise ye Bohemia's God, 
His Will be done ! 

(The End) 



^RINTSD BY 

TOWM TALK PRKSB 

• 8 FIRST aTNKrr 



